


Ready to explode

by bearsquares



Series: what happens at the amiibo gazebo stays at the amiibo gazebo [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, First Time, Hook-Up, Humor, M/M, One Shot, POV Alternating, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rare Pairings, Sexual Inexperience, whoops i turned a joke into a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/bearsquares
Summary: The gazebo in the center courtyard has fascinated Linhardt for years; he is certain it was built to hide some fascinating contraption, but his countless hours of meticulous research have turned up nothing. As if that isn't disappointing enough, he makes another discovery: people screw in it. Constantly. But this unwelcome knowledge proves surprisingly useful one night when a frantic Caspar bursts into his room begging for an anatomy lesson. For once, Linhardt knows exactly how to get rid of him...
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Ferdinand von Aegir/Caspar von Bergliez
Series: what happens at the amiibo gazebo stays at the amiibo gazebo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488422
Kudos: 30





	Ready to explode

**Author's Note:**

> Back when 3h came out, my partner and I lost our minds at there being an "amiibo gazebo" and started making jokes about people goin' on down to get fingerblasted at the amiibo gazebo on tuesdays and so on. So, I jotted down a few scenarios and this was one of them. (I literally covered my eyes and picked a random guy to bone Caspar and it was Ferdinand. Challenge accepted! (`･ω･)ゞ One might say Ferdie is OOC for some of it; I say he's roleplaying. Potato, potato.)
> 
> But yeah, I wrote most of this almost a year ago and forgot about it until last month. I thought, why not finish it and post it for Caspar's birthday? And I'm late doing that, too. Close enough!
> 
> Please enjoy.

**1**

  
  
  


"Hey, Linhardt—"

"Caspar. What a surprise."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What time is it?"

"You like guys, right?"

When Caspar initially burst through his door, Linhardt, though annoyed, had the courtesy to sit up on his elbows. At this question, he blinked slowly—“well, goodnight"—then flopped backward onto his pillow.

"Hey, come on!"

"Are you coming on to me? At this hour?"

"What? No! I mean, I…" He trailed off, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet. Despite the sleepy warmth of Linhardt's room, he looked ready to jump out of his skin.

"Well, there's nothing I can do for you, I'm afraid." Linhardt flapped his hand in a dismissive wave, still lying in flat repose. "Do shut the door when you leave, I don't want a draft coming in."

"Look, I'm just—" A muffled growl tore out of him. "Okay! I'm thinking about guys. A lot."

Linhardt craned his neck, squinting over his mountain of blankets at the man fretting in his doorway. Even half-asleep, he was curious by nature, a hound for gossip and interesting facts. 

Fact: Caspar von Bergliez had been thinking about sleeping with men.

Which was fascinating considering he had never expressed much interest in sex before—awareness, yes, but little else. In their academy days, for instance, the two happened upon some lacy smallclothes crumpled up outside the Golden Deer classroom. Most students avoided them, repulsed or preoccupied, but Caspar stopped and picked them up as one would any innocent item. Oblivious to the stares and squawks of his peers, he thrust the panties into the air, waving them around like a tiny flag asking in his loudest voice if anyone had lost “their thingy”. Linhardt almost cracked up at the memory of Caspar offering a pair of used underwear to the Professor, who simply stared back at him, then replied with an indifferent "put those down." Ever the obedient boy for their teacher, he shrugged and tossed them away, and class began. 

Caspar arriving at an overtly sexual thought on his own was most unexpected. But, to be fair, sex didn’t interest Lindhardt much, either—not as a singular idea, anyway. They were alike in that regard: motivated only by a handful of interests. Perhaps that was why they enjoyed each other's company so well.

_Ah, but “enjoy” is an awful strong word, isn't it?_

Yawning, he pulled himself upright and patted the space at the edge of his bed for Caspar to sit. 

After a moment's hesitation, he plopped down, sinking into the plush duvet. "I dunno, doing it with a girl kind of weirds me out." His knee bounced while he spoke, hard enough to shake the bed. "I’m into girls for sure, but I’m used to training with guys so I guess that's just easier to think about? But I don’t even really know what I'm thinking about?"

"What does this have to do with me again?"

He shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. "Well you're—y'know, you've got…experience." He mumbled the last word, rightfully embarrassed.

A dry giggle crept up Linhardt's throat. "Now, Caspar, whatever gave you that idea?" He deadpanned. "Seriously."

"I dunno! Could you just tell me how it works?"

"You _are_ aware it's two in the morning."

Caspar heaved a ragged sigh. "You're right. I shouldn't be bugging you with this." He gave his head a dog-like shake. "No. This is dumb. I'll get over it." He then buried his face in his gloved palms, moaning. "I’m such an idiot!"

"Oh, calm down. You're starting to sound like Bernadetta."

"Yeah, maybe I should go ask _her,_ ” he grumbled into his hands.

Linhardt drummed his fingers on his taut, silky sheets. His beautiful, luxurious, warm sheets, which called to him _“sleep”_ in a whispery siren's song. "Tell you what, I will give you a useful tip and in exchange you must promise never to wake me with this nonsense again. Do we have a deal?"

“What kind of a tip?” Caspar asked, peeking over his shoulder.

"You know of the gazebo in the courtyard?"

"With the tea parties?"

Linhardt rolled his eyes. "The other one."

"There's another one?"

" _Ugh, help me—_ the one that's always mysteriously empty? So quaint and unassuming that most people hardly register its presence?"

"Oh. That one."

"Yes, Caspar. That one. If you are curious about the goings on between men, I suggest you visit that gazebo on a new moon. A little after midnight."

"Wait, are you saying…?”

"But don't get caught because it _will_ get awkward. Trust me."

“How did you find this out?”

“Research, of course. The monastery is full of mysteries—” He paused to yawn. “Centuries’ worth.”

“You’re the only person I know who could get away with a story like that.”

"Yes, you’re probably right." Content to put a bow on this unwanted gift, Linhardt flopped back against his pillows once more.

Caspar scrubbed at his cropped hair and cleared his throat. "So, have you actually been with a guy before?"

No reply came, only even, delicate snoring.  
  
  


**2**

  
  
  


_New moon. Gazebo. Midnight._

Caspar paced along the tall hedges lining the path to the Reception Hall, mumbling the same four words like a spell. Or a curse. Either way, he needed to be precise. As instructed, he had wandered out in the pitch dark of night, determined to see this experiment (as Linhardt would call it) through. 

A mess of unwelcome thoughts had pushed him to this. Guys never gave him any weird feelings before, but now he couldn’t look at certain people without bolting for the nearest door with a lock on it. A hell of a lot changed after the war broke out, he guessed. He wandered Fódlan for a few years, hopping from group to group, fighting as much as he pleased. It wasn’t a bad setup. And he would have stuck with it if not for his obligation to the Professor and his old classmates.

_New moon. Gazebo. Midnight._

The Officer's Academy had been pretty diverse, but it couldn’t have prepared him for the sorts of new and interesting people he would encounter out on the road. New and very interesting. Guys who kissed guys and girls who kissed girls and both who kissed both and even people who weren’t guys _or_ girls kissing whoever. And they weren't shy about it! Caspar hadn’t grown up under the impression that queerness was wrong, of course, his family just never discussed that sort of thing. Among Empire nobility, it was more so a question of “who” rather than “how”. But mercenaries didn’t give a crap about politics and crests, and neither did he. What appealed to him was the nonchalance of it all—no rules or pointless customs, just fighting and screwing.

_New moon. Gazebo. Midnight._

Was it midnight? He forgot to check before leaving his room, too busy dressing and undressing himself. He didn't want to be vulnerable to attack, but it would suck way worse to get caught clanking around in the bushes trying to watch “the goings on between men” or whatever. If Linhardt meant sex, he should have said sex. Why did he have to turn this into a field trip, anyway? Why not just explain how and where guys do it? Was it really so damn complicated?

Caspar grumbled at the thought, once again hovering between fascination and anxiety. That in-between feeling often landed him in serious trouble. Most of the time he was fine not understanding certain things, but, even though they were higher than most, he had limits.

_New moon—_

Someone was already there. But not in the gazebo proper. Again he flipped through what he remembered of Linhardt’s instructions. He never said where the “goings on” went on—in it? Near it?

Caspar held in a swear, straining to bring his surroundings into focus. To his relief, it wasn’t anyone he’d had his eye on from what he could tell. The idea of discovering any of the men who had sparked his interest made him dizzy with nerves (and a hint of jealousy). But none of them carried themselves like they were expecting compliments on their posture, nor did they have a flowing mane of hair that would probably look better on a girl. No, this guy was a stuffy noble who wouldn't be caught dead sleazing around after dark looking for a casual good time—someone like Ferdinand.

"Ferdinand?!"

"Caspar!"

The still night air threw their voices farther and louder than expected. Caspar winced. They were within shouting distance of Edelgard and Hubert’s rooms, and he’d pick a slow execution over discussing this with either of them. While they waited in stunned silence, his vision brightened, adjusting to the shadowed courtyard at last. It was Ferdinand, alright.

"Geez, is our entire house like this?"

"Like what?"

Ferdinand now resembled a spooked cat, while Caspar, having failed his stealth mission, stood half-shoved into a giant bush, beyond done with the whole thing. Finally releasing that swear, he untangled his foot from the hedge branches and abandoned his terrible hiding place. The clownish shock on Ferdinand’s face eased any suspicion that he, the noblest of nobles, had come to screw dudes in a gazebo. Linhardt really got him good this time.

"I suppose you are out for a walk as well?"

"A walk?" That made perfect sense to Caspar. He thought it was brilliant, in fact—a watertight excuse. "A walk! Yeah. And I was totally just finishing that walk, heading back to bed."

Ferdinand sighed as he often did before launching off into a lecture about his opinions: Caspar's cue to bail. He loved the guy, but he was not about to suffer through his preaching, not after the night he'd had.

"Anyway, goodnight!"

"Caspar—please, wait a moment."

He waited a moment, resisting the urge to cut and run—which for once sounded awesome and not cowardly—but Ferdinand sounded so mopey. He clearly had something heavy on his mind, and blowing people off just wasn’t Caspar’s style.

"I have known you long enough that I cannot lie to you like this. I…am not out for a walk."

"No kidding.”

He gave a solemn nod. "I was waiting for someone here, but they never showed up. I admit I pouted for a while, but then I realized I had the date entirely wrong! Embarrassing, no? You would think I, of all people, could keep a date," Ferdinand blabbed on, gliding past Caspar’s awkward forced laugh. "But it seems even I am not immune to the stress of constant fighting." He paused, then looked down at his feet in a weirdly adorable way. "What I am trying to say is I would appreciate your discretion in this matter."

A man of simple principles like him and someone honest to a fault like Ferdinand only had so much room in their conversations for nuance. It seemed they had both reached the same understanding of the situation. 

"Discretion. You got it. Goodnight!"

He turned to leave, heart beating faster than usual, wondering why the hell he was so sweaty all of a sudden. Moments ago, he was glad to be wrong, raring to go wake Linhardt up and tell him he’s full of crap. Now his brain was overheating trying to compare Ferdinand von Aegir to a bunch of frisky mercs who spent their free time getting wasted and playing The Knife Game.

"You know, Caspar," Ferdinand said. He spoke with a cunning more fitting for Hubert, which was in itself unsettling. "I do not think you are being honest with me.”

“Huh?”

“You have never been one for nighttime walks and, if l am not mistaken, tonight is not your night on watch."

Caspar couldn't bring himself to turn and face him. Worse yet, something about this change in demeanor excited him. Never in his life had he considered Ferdinand in a romantic sense, yet this earnest goof he usually paid no mind had him frozen in place, caught in a firm and commanding grip. And he was half-hard thinking about _being_ gripped.

"I haven't?"

"No. To my knowledge, you have always slept soundly."

"Well, everyone’s kind of restless." Caspar faced him again, wishing he hadn't. "And, uh…walkin' around at night."

"Exactly." Ferdinand nodded, borderline threatening in his calm. His eyes seemed to glitter in the dark. "Do you ever wonder why so many of us are taking walks?" He didn't wait for a reply. "After a point, even someone like you cannot go on without relieving tension." 

Tension. Fists clenched before throwing the first punch. A fiery inrush of blood on the battlefield. Now a gazebo column digging into his back. And Ferdinand digging into his thigh. 

"Is this not what you came for?"

"Not really to, uh—" He swallowed. The thin space between their bodies blistered with shared heat. "Participate. I was just—"

"Curious?" Ferdinand stood so close the tips of their noses brushed together. Intimate gestures generally turned Caspar off, but this made him feel all floaty. And Ferdinand smelled incredible. Was it tea leaves? Maintenance oil? How did he never notice it? “They say experience is the best teacher."

"Right!" he said, a few octaves higher than normal. He was sweating a ton. "That is sometimes a thing that people say."

He had never kissed anyone beyond sloppy kid stuff or even sloppier drunk stuff. Ferdinand obviously had because he cupped Caspar's cheeks with his gloved hands and, with the poise of a well-groomed nobleman, kissed his parted lips. If someone told him five years ago that Ferdinand von Aegir would kiss him like a girl and it would totally turn his knees to jelly, he would have kicked their ass, but now, considering their situation, it wasn't half bad—probably the nicest kiss he'd ever had.

Caspar reached up, fisted both hands in Ferdinand's ginger locks, and tugged him down into something more befitting his level of frustration. A surprised gasp separated them a moment before the other responded with equal intensity. As always, Caspar took things two steps at a time. He yanked his belt open and scrabbled at his fly, clumsy with a sudden need for hot skin-on-skin contact in the biting darkness of _new moon-gazebo-midnight._ Ferdinand grinned and managed to half-undress them both, his touch quick and teasing and knee-buckling. Caspar couldn’t help his annoyance—he dominated the battlefield and should therefore be dominant in bed (or gazebo), damnit! That logic fell to pieces when Ferdinand, in an expert maneuver, caught them both in a gentle grip, stroking them together. Caspar gave in with a tight-lipped groan; this was not a fight he could win. Fucking into leather while slipping against another guy’s cock was so much better than his hand. He didn't even have it in him to bitch about being the shorter hung of the two.

Ferdinand's soft lips curved into a wicked smile Caspar would probably, regrettably, never see again. “Your cheeks are bright red.” 

“Knock it off.”

"You really are cute. I have always thought so."

"C'mon. You also think I can’t control myself and I’m—" A tight, emphatic stroke drew a whine from him. “Too…fight too much…”

"That is true. Still, I cannot help admiring your passion. And honestly, I envy your stamina.” He leaned down to kiss his neck, chuckling when Caspar tilted his head back in response. “I often wonder how much you really have."

“Huh?”

"Turn around."

He did without hesitation—and was rewarded with a gentle bite on the back of his neck that made his entire body shiver. He braced an arm against the column in front of him, hiding his face against his sleeve. Roughness and pain were fine, but teasing was excruciating. And the idea of someone knowing how to push his buttons better than he could was kind of weird, even if he broke out in a full-body blush when Ferdinand took the hem of his undershirt and tugged it up to bare his chest. 

Caspar’s voice quavered. “Are you groping me?”

“Should I stop?”

“Well, no, but—nngh! Quit pinching so hard!” 

“Do you not notice when others watch you during drills? Not even in the bath house?”

They had seen each other naked dozens of times and he thought it was no big deal. Sure, he might have checked him out, too, because the guy had nice thighs—but Caspar had been estimating the number of squats it took to achieve that level of firmness rather than picturing them wrapped around his waist. “Not really?”

Ferdinand pouted a little. “I cannot tell if you are being modest or if you are as clueless as everyone says.”

“Who says I’m clueless?!”

"Everyone. Would you mind?"

The sudden earthy flavor of leather on his tongue made him reel backward, bumping into Ferdinand's chest. "Ew! Is that your glove? I don't know where that’s been!"

"Cleaned before I left my quarters, I will have you know. Please."

While eating an oily glove sounded disgusting, part of him was into being touched and used like a well-loved weapon. "Do it yourself!"

Ferdinand sighed, then hooked two fingers into Caspar's mouth, cutting off his indignant yelp so it came as more of a squawk. This earned him a low chuckle in a strange silky purr of a voice. "That's it. Be a good boy for me."

He groaned, sagging in defeat. If it weren’t for the jerk’s hard-on jabbing his ass, he would have fought him, even bitten him, but Ferdinand's stony grip on his jaw brought yet another interesting fact to light: Caspar enjoyed being dominated. Letting some pretentious noble hold his tongue down to choke off his incessant back-talking might be a prime jack-off fantasy. He’d come right away if the guys he kept lusting over did this to him. Hell, anyone could get him off just as quick. Maybe there wasn’t a lick of sexual dominance in him to begin with.

Ferdinand released him—way too soon for his liking, but it didn’t matter because that same slick, gloved hand was tracing the groove of his spine, down, down to prod his asshole with a leathery fingertip. His toes curled in his boots. Sexual genius that he was, Caspar never made it that far back on his own. He beat off whenever his body demanded it, business-like, then got back to training. Not once had his rear asked anything of him other than what it was made for in the first place. If he had known about _this,_ though, he wouldn't be in this mortifying position, he'd be up to _his_ knuckles in _Ferdinand's_ ass, ignoring _his_ cock until _he_ started pleading under his breath for someone to jerk or suck _him_ off.

“Fuck!”

“Are you alright?” He asked, idly canting his wrist.

Caspar growled out a few more obscenities, practically sitting on his hand.

He hummed and, in an unexpected intimate gesture, leaned his forehead against Caspar’s shoulder. “You would tell me if I was hurting you, yes?”

“Probably not.”

"As I thought."

The gentle fingering stopped. Ferdinand stretched him wider with a second digit, working him open with a few rough pumps of his wrist. Fire shot through Caspar’s lower body; he squeaked, relaxing as well as he could, mortified and again surprised at this otherwise polite soul being so aggressive. But there was a thick, throbbing cock rubbing his bare thigh, and his own leaking precome; pain and pretense were the last things on his mind. Caspar hugged the column in front of him, jutting his rear out. He half-wondered if he should reach down and finish himself off or if Ferdinand might do it while he took him three-wide. His heavy cock pulsed; heat swelled, about to break inside of him; he was empty. _Empty!_

“Hey! Why’d you stop?”

Something squeaked and popped behind him—a cork?—followed by a garbled “be patient”. There was a creak, a soft grunt, then Ferdinand was hard against his ass again, sliding wet down the middle.

“The hell?”

“I was overzealous and forgot I had lubricant.”

"What are you talking abou—" 

A dry glove clapped over his mouth before he woke the entire monastery with a startled, pained shout. Ferdinand, the bastard, decided to go all in with no warning, his drawn out strokes pure torture. Another thrust had Caspar crying out again, breathing ragged and ready to tap out. His suffering moans wavered beneath the thundering of his own heartbeat—but they lasted too long, went too soft at the end. Ferdinand was on the verge of laughing, hitting him with full, merciless thrusts and Caspar arched his back to meet them. Someone would need to come scrape his face off the marble when this was all over, but at least he got what he came for.

"You love this, don't you? Tell me how much you love it when I fuck you."

Whoever was riding him senseless right now wasn’t Ferdinand, but Caspar would do anything he said, so close to coming he sobbed, "I love it so much—please don't stop—"

"I can't believe you're begging! Keep going."

"What is your problem?!"

He took a handful of Caspar’s hair and yanked his head back, growling against his throat. "Beg me."

Words tumbled out of Caspar's mouth, his will broken. "I-I love getting fucked, okay? I yield—please, I don’t care anymore, I want it, just fuck me!” 

They fell back into their vicious rhythm. Caspar took every inch of him as deep as he could, babbling and incoherent as he shot off all over the stones beneath them. His vision blurred, ears ringing, and that absolute jackass said something filthy but he couldn’t tell what it was, which suited him fine.

He continued driving Caspar forward into the column, the quick, hot slaps of their bodies cracking, echoing in the tiny gazebo like applause from an invisible audience of perverts.

The thrusting stuttered, then stopped. With a few murmured swears in that odd rough tone, he pushed in, filling him, crushing his chest against Caspar’s tight-muscled back. A curtain of wavy hair swept over his shoulder and he thought of yanking it again, kissing him again. But he kept still, trembling all over. Their sheer difference in experience and strength was humiliating. So humiliating it sparked a competitive fire in him. Next time, he would outlast them, whoever they were. And one day, he would pay Ferdinand back for this and he would enjoy the hell out of it. 

Then Ferdinand pulled out and he almost wanted to cry.

Fabric shifted behind him, accompanied by the click of a belt buckle. "Well, I had a lovely time. We must do this again."

Caspar mumbled in agreement; it was all he could manage in his current state. With any luck, Ferdinand would act like this never happened as he seemed to do with whoever else he met here. Maybe the others didn’t beg and whimper, though. What if Ferdinand had been saving his frustration for years and Caspar just happened to be the first dumb sap to submit?

He clunked his forehead against the gazebo column, libido annihilated. If anyone found out he had been gloriously dominated by someone who loves tea and shitty poetry, he’d just swear off sex and go find a nice hill to die on. Let the wolves have his carcass.

"Hey, can you do me a favor and not—Ferdinand?" 

An owl hooted in the distance. 

Caspar whirled around and met air. He was alone, pants around his ankles, cum still in his ass, talking to himself.

"Seriously?”

He gathered his pants up to his waist. Ferdinand had disappeared. But so had everything else in the monastery, including his maddening curiosity. 

  
  
  


**3**

  
  
  


"A new moon has come and gone. Did you have any luck?"

Once again, Caspar had chosen a horrible time to visit, but, rather than barging in like a maniac, he had slipped in with his head lowered, closing the door carefully behind him. He hovered by the door, staring at his boots. "Uh, yeah. I guess."

Linhardt's sleepy eyes grew wide and alert. "Oh, my. You did." He had been expecting him to chicken out, but this rare showing of humility was undeniable proof. Miracle of miracles — he really did it. "Who was it?"

"W-what? Who?!" Caspar pressed his lips tight together, conflicted, then took a loud breath and raked his fingers through his tuft of hair. "Ahhhhh, man…"

"No, no." Linhardt shook his head, his expression grave. "You _must_ tell me, I have invested precious energy into this."

“Ugh. Do I have to?"

“Yes.”

He made a truly miserable face, then muttered, "Ferdinand."

Linhardt almost let out an unbecoming hoot, but he restrained himself because poor Caspar had the sedated look of an elderly dog. Humiliated for certain, but not entirely regretful. His tough features softened and his cheeks flushed ever so gently—dear goddess, was that a tiny, wistful smile?

"Incredible. I didn't think the noblest of nobles had it in him." 

An awkward silence followed, and the room became a stifling furnace. Linhardt flapped the collar of his nightshirt. Perhaps his brain’s wild speculations had him a bit flustered. What could Ferdinand have done to subdue someone so bold and unyielding? What was that ridiculous man capable of? he wondered. If Caspar didn't seem like he would leap out of it, he would ask him to open a window, but alas, he must reassure him first. 

“So, did he recite _By which to bloom_ or _My Maiden’s Flower_?”

“Isn’t that one dirty?”

“Yes, very.”

“You don’t want to know what he did.”

“On the contrary! I would love to know what has you as timid as a church mouse.”

“I’m not timid! He was just…different. That's all."

"Well, poor you. Sounds like a lot of hassle to me—goodness, if I had known you would go to _him_ to fool around, I would have at least offered you, oh, something."

“I didn’t _go_ to him, I—really?"

"No.”

Caspar repeated himself, irritated. He crossed his thick-muscled arms and narrowed his eyes. “Hold on... Are you jealous?"

Wrangling him in bed, even as a concept, made Linhardt want to scream. If he wasn't so restless and loud, maybe, but he doubted he could divorce Caspar from his prick long enough to finish. "I suppose it makes sense that Ferdinand handled you so well. He’s oblivious, you’re oblivious—” 

"Wow. Sorry I'm too dumb for you, I guess."

“It is not a matter of intelligence. My point is two grievously aroused simpletons might share a passionate, even bestial chemistry some might find appealing. But goodness, I never knew you were so desperate for my attention.” 

It took a moment for him to catch up with Linhardt’s rapid professing, but then an odd smile crossed his face. “Maybe I wasn’t before.”

“But you are now? Interesting.” Or terrifying—Ferdinand may have unleashed a beast upon them all, one with a long-standing proclivity for plunging into fights. If he had developed an interest in plunging into other things, then… Linhardt gave a flippant shrug. 

"So that's a no, huh?"

“Unless you manage to wow me with your sexual prowess. But I doubt that.”

"Honestly? So do I."

"Well, I'm glad we agree for once."

"Whatever. Goodnight."

"Oh, quit sulking. Here—” Linhardt gestured at the air, batting a few platitudes around. “Try not to give yourself a hard time over this or _be ashamed of who you are_ and all that. It needed to happen, if you ask me.” He was met with a drawn, skeptical look. “There. Are you consoled now?”

He wrinkled his nose in thought. For all his faults, he could be very cute. “A little.”

“Marvelous. You may leave now.”

“Thanks, Linhardt.”

“Goodnight, Caspar. And goddess help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You made it! Thanks for reading~


End file.
